Ignorance
by just-a-shadow-of-death
Summary: Donovan and Anderson utter out the most obscene filth towards Sherlock. Sherlock usually ignores them but John is also being thrown into their bitterness. Maybe a little out of character for some. Don't like, don't read. whump.
1. Face that hurts

**Yes**

**Been pushed to their limits, Donavan and Anderson get down right filthy to make Sherlock loose his cold attitude towards them. And they'll try anthing possible.**

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><p>The narrow passageway between the two residential buildings reeked of every kind of smell possible. Sherlock had his face half way covered into his scarf, that left him out and was left to smell the unthinkable. There was this other strong smell that he recognized, smell of a postmortem dead body.<p>

They were here to help DI Lestrade in another case that was confounding the police department.

Lestrade gave a small smile towards them and motioned them forward, lifting the yellow tape and leading the way. "Another one of those argyle sweater case of yours." He said, turning to his side and looking at Sherlock's face. "What happened to your face?" He asked.

"When did this occur?" Sherlock ignored him and walked past by, taking his hand held magnifying glass out and kneeling down towards the dead body.

The state of the body was bad. The victim's face had been bashed with glass, more like a slashed repeatedly with knives. John did his own observing while he stayed back and watched Sherlock do his thing. "What's this Argyle sweater case? I never heard about it?"

The DI who had been busy staring at Sherlock quickly alerted his face towards John, "Oh, you weren't around the three other cases. You wouldn't know."

"Why that name?" He asked, already knowing this case was before he met Sherlock. He knew about every case Sherlock had done ever since they met, whatever the DI just told him was already old news to him.

"Oh," The DI said, "You see," he put his both hands inside his jacket, "We've had three other murders like this, the only similar pattern shown are the argyle sweaters, with repeated white diamonds and with the same amount of them too." He nodded, "And they're all men with glasses and around age twenty to twenty five."

"Oh." John muttered.

Sherlock rose from his position and walked towards them. "Something's different about this. Did anyone touch anything?"

Lestrade bit his lip and pointed a thumb backwards, "The forensics team did some hammering."

Sherlock dramatically rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.

"Let me ask." Lestrade said. "ANDERSON, " he yelled. The young man on the other side of the street was with Sgt. Donavan and looked towards the DI. "Come over here." Lestrade finished. The two people met him with a stare but came towards them.

"What?" Anderson asked, looking towards Sherlock who was completely pissed off because of the mess-up.

"Did you-"

Sherlock cut of the DI and spoke, his voice shaky, "How many times have I said not to contaminate my scene?"

"Your scene?" Anderson shook his head. "What is it?" He said and looked towards the DI.

The DI held his hands up and pulled Anderson backwards, "Did you guys touch anything, move anything or something else you did that you shouldn't have?"

"I've had this job for ten years, you think I'll make a mistake like that? We don't touch stuff in a murder scene." He said matter of factly, folding his arms on his chest.

"Maybe the freak doesn't know what to do." Donavan added.

"Oh, please." Sherlock hissed back.

"Okay thanks." The DI said, walking back towards Sherlock. He nodded questioningly, "What's different about this than the others?"

Sherlock raised both his eye brows in surprise. "Are you serious?" He looked at John, "You don't know what's wrong with this?" he stared at Lestrade disbelievingly and the DI stared back blankly.

"I really don't see the difference."

"Come with me." Sherlock said as he lead the DI towards the dead body.

John decided to stay behind.

"What do you think happened to his face?" He heard Donavan say from behind.

"Probably domestic." Anderson suggested.

"What do you mean?" Donavan asked, not getting it.

"You know, the doctor probably hit him." The so called forsenic expert thought out.

"Why would he do that? He doesn't look the type to hit." Donavan watched the doctor from behind.

John was staring at the wall and concluding his own theories on this crime scene, but he was also keen on listening to what the two people behind him were whispering about.

Anderson continued his tale, "You know, he was in heat while Sherlock was sucking him off and the doctor hit him."

Donavan laughed and Anderson giggled.

John bewildered by the comment stood motionless and stared straight through the wall. His breathing caught and his face grew hot. The notion of that thought from the man behind him was sickly inappropriate.

Sherlock was hurt. Some bad guys had gotten the best of him and punched him into submission last week. Sherlock had been seriously hurt and bruised with a slowly fading scar. The two boneheads had seriously stepped out of line.

John wanted to say something but Sherlock's voice provoked his killer instincts and he walked towards the dead body too.

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><p><strong>This was supposed to be a one long shot. But I'll do it in chapters instead.<strong>

**Read and Review.**


	2. Words that Sting

**Chapter 2**

**Been pushed to their limits, Donovan and Anderson get down right filthy to make Sherlock loose his cold attitude towards them. And they'll try anything possible.**

John took miserable steps upstairs. It was another one of those drug busts and he really didn't want to go upstairs and confront the many dogs that were trashing the place around. _He had just cleaned up the place too._

He walked through the widely opened door and watched Sherlock pacing around rather nervously. He had his hands clasped together and once in a while breathed into it. "Sherlock?" he called out, momentarily hesitating the young man, but Sherlock's attention towards him was short lived and he started pacing again.

"Sherlock?" John said again, "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned that Sherlock was panicking too much about this.

Lestrade came out of the kitchen and greeted John.

John angrily walked past the DI and towards Sherlock.

Sherlock furiously turned towards Lestrade and stomped towards him. "Why do you bother?" he asked, "You know you won't find anything."

Lestrade looked at him apologetically, "I received a call and-"

"And what? You just storm in here and start wrecking my place up?" Sherlock spat, fumming furiously.

"This place was already a wreck." Donavan added, turning a corner with a small plastic bag and handing it to Lestrade. "Something to look at." She nodded at the DI.

"It's salt." Sherlock added. Throwing daggers at Donovon.

"Looks like drugs." Lestrade smiled as he opened the bag with white contents. He patted his finger inside the bag and brought it close towards his nostrils. His nose wrinkled and brows furrowed. "Why do you have salt in here?"

"Well, Unlike you. I'm clever. I know how to catch drug addicts." Sherlock grasped the bag away from the DI and threw it on the floor.

"Sherlock. Stop throwing stuff around." John said. Sitting down on the chair next to his desk, completely exhausted.

"Oh. Look what I found." Anderson said. "Another Head."

Sherlock, John and Lestrade looked towards the kitchen. The door to the refrigerator was open and Anderson was standing beside it, showing everyone a newly added male head stuck inside the fridge.

"Looks like there are other uses for these heads, besides his so called experiments." Anderson bellowed.

"And what's that?" Another one of Lestrade's forsenic worker asked.

"Shoving his dick into the right mouth."

The entire team inside the apartment laughed.

Sherlock was somehow striken, his pupils dilated and mouth gaped open a bit , specially when Lestrade gave in a chuckle, which quickly disappeared when John stood up angrily and looked at him with rage.

John entered the kitchen, "What?" he asked, Anderson was still in that same spot, with the refrigerator door open.

"Oh, come on. It's just a joke." Donavan said. Putting back the frames where they belonged.

"Right." John wet his lips. Calmly speaking, "That's a joke? You know damn well what those are for."

Anderson slammed shut the refrigerator door, "Yeah. You heard what I said." Anderson walked past the doctor and into the living room.

"Excuse me?" John questioned. His stomach tightening and his breathing rate increasing. He could feel his own hot breath, exhaling out of his nose.

"Seems to me you can't give Sherlock the milking he gives you, so he has to turn towards the dead heads." Anderson lamely picked up a box from Sherlock's table, looked inside it and let it fall to the ground.

Sherlock was standing there, he looked cooled off and recoiling by the cruel elucidation that was uttering out of Anderson's mouth. His eyes followed that of John's and for a mere seconds they stared at each other.

"What's wrong, doc? Don't like to suck but want to be sucked instead? I'm sure, freak over there," Anderson leered towards Sherlock, venom and hate showing through him, "must be doing something right for you."

Sherlock came out of his daze, "Don't you have any other remarks besides drowning to your lowest?"

"oooh" Donavan laughed out loud. It was a fake laughter, an in your face to Sherlock. She had no interest in the conversation but was clearly cheering Anderson on.

"You bring this kind of filth into my house?" John trudged towards Lestrade dangrously, "Leave."

"He is angry because it's true." Donavan said.

"Ofcourse, I'm right." Anderson agreed, smugly walking towards her and giving her a hand with another brown box, "How else would he pay the rent. He doesn't have a job, sucking is the best thing he could do for money."

"Enough!" Lestrade yelled towards the two misbehaving culprits. "Be careful. What you say next could get you suspended." The DI put both hands on his hips and shook his head. "I'm sorry, John."

"Why are you doing this?" John asked, purely wounded by the DI's actions. He sent a threatening look towards Anderson, who ignored him and turned towards Donavan. "You know he's clean and on top of that, look what kind of people you bring in here."

The DI completely understood what he said and he was truly sorry when he apolygized again, "I'm sorry. It's just, we got a phone call from a government official and he wanted a report. It wasn't in my hands."

_A government official wanted a report on Sherlock?_ John knew. He knew which official he was talking about and he looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes hardened. John could see how the younger man's jaw tightened and the wrinkles on his forehead became sharp. Sherlock also knew who had ordered the raid.

Sherlock regained his composure and walked towards John, "May I burrow your phone, John." He held his hand out.

Normally John wouldn't have given him his cell phone. The man had his own but in this bloody situation and the anger that was raging in him, forced John to shove his hand in his jacket and pull out the phone, heedlessly expanding his hand to give Sherlock the damn thing.

The dark haired man took the phone from John's hand and walked out the door and went downstairs.

John waited for Sherlock's footsteps to stop, to tell him he had reached downstairs. "I think you are done here."

The DI looked at him, "Yeah, sure." Lestrade turned around and waved everyone to the center. "Guys, we are done."

Anderson let the papers in his hands fall and sighed. He muttered a 'thank god' and walked past the DI and John. Donavan also left, followed by everyone else. Lestrade stayed a bit after they all left, "I'm sorry about that. What Anderson said." He nodded and walked away.

John also followed behind. Going downstairs and watching some of the forsenics packing. He watched as Donavan and Anderson walked past Sherlock, who was holding the phone to his ear, and called him a 'freak'. Sherlock stared back, mouth open to say something, but it seemed like someone from the other line said something. "How dare you!" Sherlock blasted into the cell phone.


	3. Big Brother Holmes

There's a lot of things that John Watson hates, Some are just small and unnecessary subjects that come up during conversations, some little twig getting on his nerves, the violin, Sherlock's experiments and not having any money left over for new clothes, but what he most certainly hated, extremely averse to, detested with every other hateful thing he wanted to say but couldn't because he was half asleep and the DAMN door bell was RINGING just as he had FALLEN ASLEEP? That was out of the damn freaking question. "JESUS!". John reluctantly rose up, sitting straight in his bed and rubbing his eyes.

Looking at the alarm clock right next to his bed, it was about to turn five and apparently who ever had rung the bell, either didn't posses a watch, clock or whatever that could tell them time, or they simply didn't care. He fastened his gown and went downstairs.

Sherlock was awake, sitting on the couch with his leg crossed over another. He looked like he was expecting someone and as John wrinkled his forehead, "Sherlock?" he asked, standing in front of the door, "Can't you hear the door bell ringing?"

Sherlock's head turned towards the door very slowly to where John stood, "Yes, John and It's still ringing."

John shook his head and went further down. Opening the door just as the man on the other side was about to ring the bell again. "Mycroft!" he said, surprised at the look on the oldest Holmes' appearance. Mycroft looked disoriented and tired, his shirt was unbuttoned three holes from the neck down, no tie, and hair out of place, it seemed to John, he wasn't the only one who was disrupted from his sleep. "Did Sherlock call?" he said knowingly.

Mycroft let himself in, removed his coat and gave it to John. "Do you really need to ask?" he said as he made his way upstairs rather eagerly. John watched him go and then looked at the coat in his hand, _what was he?_ _His butler?_ John laid his coat on the primary handrail and went upstairs, hearing the door to the living room shut with a thud, he ignored the following shouting and went back up to his room. Let the two brothers fight, it was none of his business.

At least after thirty minutes of what felt like hell coming from downstairs. John heard a loud clunk and everything downstairs went quiet. He sighed, it was about time. Someone had done something to end it and he was glad.

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><p>He had fallen asleep just as the noises downstairs had finished, and now he was RE-awakening to the sounds of his alarm bell. It was seven, he had to go to work!<p>

John slammed his head against the pillow – pretending it was a wall instead – and tightened the blanket that covered him. _What did he have to do to get a good night of sleep around here?_

He almost threw the blanket that covered him upon rising up and angrily strutted downstairs for a shower and tea.

John opened the door to the living room, a little bit shocked to see Mycroft sitting on the sofa, _no – wait, sleeping_ but in a sitting position. He had his head towards the other side. Seemed like Mycroft hadn't bothered going home.

The place was even messier then before. John had bothered to put a little things back in order after the fake bust, and now those things were back on the ground. Some broken, like the Violin that lay next to the head of a female mannequin.

John walked away pretending he didn't see anything and went into the shower.

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><p>When he came out of the shower. Mycroft was awake, fidgeting with his buttons. He appeared out of place and looking around.<p>

"Tea?" John asked, as he entered the kitchen.

Mycroft halted his moves and cleared his throat. "Y-yes, thank you."

"What happened?"

The oldest Holmes' walked towards the kitchen and sat in the chair adjacent to a desk with many files laying around. "Excuse me?"

"Earlier, today! What happened?" John said, opening the fridge and shuffling human remains around and taking out milk.

"Nothing good of sorts." Mycroft said as he picked up an old newspaper and looked over it. "Sherlock can get very loud when he thinks someone is ignoring him." He looked up at John, "Of course you know that, don't you?"

"Not really," John shook his head, "maybe only towards you." He poured tea into two cups and handed one to Mycroft, "had a fight?"

Mycroft didn't say anything. He just went through the many papers on the desk and placed them in order. Going through folders and fixing them up. "You don't have to do that." John said, taking a paper away from Mycroft's hand.

"It's fine. Sherlock is very messy -"

"No," John interrupted, "That's from the fake drug bust you ordered." The bitter words spat right through John as he remembered the ordeal from yesterday. The words of Donovan and Anderson and the look Sherlock had thrown at him, a look that John didn't understand.

"Oh yes!"

"Why did you order it?"

Mycroft took a sip of his tea and looked at John, "That's my business."

John smirked. There were times he had compared the two brothers against one another, who was the biggest, pompous bastard? and there were many times Sherlock had won. And right now, with John's fist tightened and held back from not punching the haughty man next to him he knew very well Mycroft was just as evil as Sherlock compared him from time to time. Evil, manipulative, arrogant and proud.

"You know, I've always wondered what kind of thrill people get from bullying Sherlock. You should know, can you tell me?" he half heartedly laughed. "I want to know because I don't understand."

"No thrill. Just a lesson." Mycroft corrected, after all it wasn't a Fake bust. "Sherlock brought drugs from a drug dealer. I was merely looking into it."

John licked his lips, "No he didn't."

"Are you sure about that?" Mycroft said seriously, "I don't want him going to that dark place again. If I have to order drug busts, than I do it for his benefits and not for some cheap thrills." He stood up, "thank you for the tea." There was bitterness in his voice.

"Mycroft, look - "

"Do tend to his wounds." Mycroft cut him off.

John turned towards Mycroft who was in the living room, "What wound – wait, where's Sherlock?"

"In his room."

John stood up, "Sherlock barely sleeps in his room. Did you _order_ him into bed?"

Mycroft didn't say anything, he looked around the messy place and back at John, "Can I borrow your phone? I left mine at home."

"It's upstairs." John said, making no attempts at going and getting it for him. "So, what happened last night? Was Sherlock mean to you and you sent him to his room?"

"Look after him."

"He has **you** to take care of him, there's no need for me, is there?" John returned.

"That's not what I meant." Mycroft said, as his eyes unconsciously fell towards the broken violin on the floor. John followed Mycroft's eyes and stared at the violin.

_He didn't, he wouldn't._ John raised his eyebrows as he put a few things together in his mind. The loud thunk he had heard before the shouting had stopped? Sherlock never shut up, he would never had unless someone had made him. The broken violin, John understood and he shook his head, "What did you do?" he asked, breathing heavily and swiping both his hands over his face. _Unbelievable._

"He just fell and I took him to his room. So, if you can - "

"He just fell?" John repeated, "He just fell? Or did you knock him out with the violin?"

Mycroft bit his lip, _nice deducing_, "I don't like having a gun shoved towards my face."

"Oh, Jesus Christ." John stood up from his chair and walked towards Sherlock's room. "I can't believe you'd do that." He walked back towards Mycroft. "You are so – you are such an asshole."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "Can I borrow your phone?"

"NO," John almost screamed, calming down and cringing his teeth, "Use Mrs. Hudson's land line downstairs!"

Mycroft went downstairs and left John in an unbelievable situation. DAMN IT. Now he had to listen to Sherlock's one week of epic fussing and gun shooting and the cases and – "Oh, god." John went to Sherlock's room. Oh, and he really should start hiding his gun. _Would Sherlock have really shot his brother?_ John smiled.


End file.
